The Things You Remember
by Piracy Is Love
Summary: Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she rubbed her face with a yawn, smearing a bit of who knows what on her cheek just underneath her left eye, and then glanced at the closed cell door before she looked over at her new noose buddy.


**Title**: The Things You Remember.

**Rating**: PG-R

**Author**: Piracy Is Love

**Summary**: Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she rubbed her face with a yawn, smearing a bit of who knows what on her cheek just underneath her left eye, and then glanced at the closed cell door before she looked over at her new noose buddy.

**Reviews**: How am I supposed to know whether or not to keep writing if you don't drop a review? (:

**The Things You Remember**

**Chapter One**

**By: Piracy is me**

There are certain feelings you don't remember, certain smells and tastes you never think about for more than a second or two before your mind wanders elsewhere, onto something more important, previous thoughts and senses forgotten until they've been untouched for so long, that the memories of them are no longer there to recall.

The smell of fresh bread as you pass by the town bakery, the only one on the whole island. That smell most would remember, but only for a little time. That would be until something better, a scent more delectable filled your nose, pushing the smell of wheat, or rye, or white off to the side to be left alone, until it's no longer thought about.

The scent of fresh picked roses. You ask a woman what a fresh picked rose smelled like, and she'd go on for ages describing its sweetness, and maybe even the color if you let her get carried away. But a smart man knows never to let a woman get carried away, if there are other more important matters to be taken care of that day.

But there are smells, textures, colors that are always there to stay; ones that you could say are almost impossible, no, improbable that you'd forget. Each memory is different for each person.

For example, take Lavinia Violet..well, her last name isn't important at the moment. If you asked Lavinia to recall the smell of a rose, you'd be dead before she could even remember the last time she had even _seen_ one. Ask her to recall the feel of soapy water, and she'd tell you, but you wouldn't get much of it, because soap is one of those things you don't really think about or take the time to analyze.

But ask her to describe the smell of sea spray, or the texture of a blade, or the smell and feel of a holding cell, and your answer would be just as long as the answer you'd get from a woman of higher status, on the smell of expensive perfume.

--

"And we do, _honestly, we do,_ hope that you enjoy your visit to Port Royal, Miss. ..."

The ground was _coldgrimymuckyfamiliar _when it met with her cheek and palms as she was thrown into the holding cell, the hay used to substitute for a comfortable bedding biting into the flesh of her hands and face, having stumbled over her feet and down onto her hand knees. She spat once, ridding her mouth of dust and dirt before she casually turned so she was sitting down, leaning back on her hands as she stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle, her head tipping to the side a bit, eyes curious yet glaring at the two guards before her, just outside the cell.

Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and chuckled to herself quietly, the smell of mold, sweat, and stale air filling her nose; one of those stick-with-you-forever smells that you never forget. After a moment, she brought her hand up in front of her face, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together and watching the dirt from her hands ghost down from her skin in a thin, almost haze-like tendril, taking her time. Placing her hand back down on the ground beside her, she tipped her head up.

"Lavinia Viol-.." She started, with her brow raised and a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, but she was cut off by the heavier of the two lobster backs who shoved the butt end of his gun forcefully into the cell, which collided with the side of her head, and to the guard's success, completely knocked her unconscious.



When Lavinia eventually came to, it was to the sound of rusted metal against rusted metal as her holding cell door was opened, and another man was thrown in next to her, to her surprise. It was then she noticed that it was dark now, where there had been daylight before. In the time that it took for night to fall, the other three of the four holding cells, including hers, had been filled with three to four men each with the exception of the one man who had just been added to the one she occupied.

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she rubbed her face with a yawn, smearing a bit of who knows what on her cheek just underneath her left eye, and then glanced at the closed cell door before she looked over at her new noose buddy.

Clearing her throat quietly, or as quietly as one can call it in a place that echoes., she tried to get the attention of the older looking man, but he continued to examine his, what she assumed to be, dirty nails. Much like hers, she would expect.

She tried again, clearing her throat a little louder, but he still didn't look up, obviously too occupied with grooming himself, but if that were the case, surely he would know his nails were not the biggest problem of his.

Taking advantage of being hidden in the shadows, just a few thin slivers of moonlight casting in through the small, high window shining over her face, she examined the man more carefully, or what she could see of him.

Well, for one, he was definitely a man. No woman could ever have a body built the way this person's was, or at least no one that she could imagine, without being a slight bit irked. On a closer look, she changed her mind, and decided that his form was the slightest bit feminine, but not enough to be classified as a woman's body.

Of course, it would have helped tenfold if she could get a glimpse of his –she had decided to stick with calling this person a man- face, but a worn, brown leather hat was pulled down low on his head, obscuring her view.

He was sat down, leaned against the wall as he picked at the dirt under his nails, humming quietly to himself that she couldn't quite make out, but sounded familiar whether she could hear it well or not. In the light of the moon, it looked as if he had brown, or maybe black shoulder-length hair, little trinkets threaded here and there in his matted locks. His shirt was open, and she could see two bullet scars on his breast, a few inches beneath his collar bone, and the hint of a tattoo peeking out beside them, though it could have also been a shadow, but it was too dark to tell, the light from the torches along the wall not bright enough to help.

His shirt tucked into a pair of grayish trousers that tucked down into a pair of brown (or were they black?) boots that came half-way up his calves.

She brought her eyes back up to the hat covering his face and creased her brow curiously, leaning her head down a bit to try and get a quick look at his face, and when she did, her eyes widened slightly, and she sat back, pursing her lips and then narrowing her eyes at him, fingers curling in towards her palms to form fists at her sides.

Lavinia was slightly surprised when she heard a quiet chuckle from the man whom she believed to be familiar to her, snapping her eyes back over to his form, jaw set and clenched as she watched him raise his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips and his left brow arched.

"I couldn't help but notice your..curiousity, but if you really aren't aware of who I am, I'll tell you," he spoke, his hands moving animatedly in front of his face, as if he were speaking through his fingers, and not his mouth at all. "I, love, am Captain Ja-,"

"I know who you are," Lavinia spat at him, looking away and up at the small window up above her head. When she spoke next, her tone was mocking. " 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Captain of the Black Pearl, most feared pirate not only in the Spanish Main, but the entire _ocean_, the entire _world_. A dishon-,"

"I'd say you'd need to find yourself a whelp, seeing as it looks as if you have nothing else to do but find out all you can about meself. Then again that would be like sayin' ye've done everything else and have finally resorted to readin' up on good old me, and therefore, wouldn't sound good on my part. So I'll stick with 'ye've done your reading,' lass," he finished with a lopsided, golden grin, reaching up to tip his had back down over his eyes, but he paused and blinked, narrowing his eyes a little bit, sitting up to lean forward and get a better look at Lavinia

"You look somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?"

Lavinia scoffed and rolled her eyes, picking at a bit of hay that had managed to stick to her pants and flicked it away. "Really, I can guarantee you've never met me before now, Mr. Sparrow," she said slightly monotone, pulling one of her outstretched legs up closer to her chest, knee bent so her arm could rest atop it. "So what are you in for?" She asked, pressing her fingers up under the edge of her faded green bandana, scratching her head lightly.

Hate. Another familiar feeling. Inside, she was _angryfuriousraging_, wanting to scream and shout, throw someone overboard. But seeing as she was locked up, and not on the sea, the latter would be quite an amusing sight to see.

But there was one thing that she had learned in her seventeen years: Never show your true feelings. So she buried her hate for the time being, and concentrated on the smell of filthy men, on the texture of the grainy, damp ground beneath her fingers instead.

"Trespassing, impersonating a doctor, attempting to commandeer a ship, and borrowing without permission," Jack answered, his hand waving about his head, sounding somewhat proud of himself as he named off his crimes one by one as if they were daily routine "And you. You...You insulted the governor." He said, as if he knew everything about her, down to the reason why she was down in the same place as he.

"Knocked a man out for looking at me funny," Lavinia corrected him, pushing herself to her feet and wiping her hands on her trousers before she stepped towards the cell door, tracing her fingers along the bar, examining ever part of it carefully, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"What did you say your name was again, lass?" Jack questioned, sitting up a bit more and tapping the underside of his hat with his fingers before he moved to tug on one of the two braids that made up his beard.

"I didn't."

Jack leaned his head forward a bit and raised his brow, staring at her back as she looked over the door, turning his hand in front of his face a little as if urging to continue to the part where she told him her name. But Lavinia continued to inspect the construction of every bar and bolt, looking for some sort of flaw, instead of answering.

Jack blinked and got to his feet, taking a cautious step towards her, reaching his hand out and leaving it to hover over her shoulder as he took another step forward, peeking over her shoulder to try and see what exactly had her so interested. "What…exactly are you doing?"

Lavinia ignored him for the moment and smiled slightly to herself, wrapping her fingers tightly around one of the thin bars before she lifted her foot and braced it against another, glancing up. She took one deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and then pulled on the bar as hard as she could until it emitted a rusted _moanhissgroan_, and moved just slightly. With a grin, she adjusted her grip and tilted her head back, looking at Jack upside down. "Getting out."


End file.
